


Love is a Dog From Hell

by indevan



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: Took a slightly dimmer light, right?  The one he didn’t really need the way he needed Kagami.  Aomine usually hated settling for second best--for losing--and yet here he was
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya, Aomine Daiki/Kuroko Tetsuya, Himuro Tatsuya/Murasakibara Atsushi, Kagami Taiga/Kuroko Tetsuya, Kasamatsu Yukio/Kise Ryouta
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Love is a Dog From Hell

**Author's Note:**

> a companion piece/sequel to [Dreaming is Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414836)!

_“Aomine Daiki?”_

That’s him--isn’t it? He isn’t sure who’s speaking, though. No one he knows.

_“C’mon, kid. Try to keep awake.”_

He’s not a kid. Hasn’t been one since middle school, feels like. Learned the real world really quick. They all did.

_“Daiki? Daiki? Come on, kid. Keep your eyes open.”_

His mom picked his name, of course. There was never a dad in the picture. Just him and his moms. Even at his lowest, at his worst, they stuck with him. Sometimes he wonders how Rei-chan could love him when she was dragged into parenthood as a teenager--when she wasn’t even the one who gave birth to him. Not much anymore, but the thought lingers.

_“Daiki?”_

A different voice. A nurse, maybe. Or another doctor. Things are clearer now. He isn’t floating in some kind of ether. Images are coming in.

“Daiki, can you hear me? You’re at the hospital. Your friend is here to collect you.”

_Tetsu._

Dumb as hell to think it. He isn’t here. He ran off to Los Angeles to chase Kagami, because he will always matter more than Aomine to him. No matter how he’s been there for him, no matter that he was there first. He’ll always be second place to Kagami. But maybe he’s come back--he’s come back to collect him, because Aomine needs collecting.

Kuroko on his couch, arms criss-crossed as he holds himself, like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart. His eyes so wide that Aomine can see the whites all the way around his pupils. His lips forming the words _Help me,_ over and over. And he did, didn’t he? And now he’s here, in the hospital.

The nurse calls out his name again and he opens his eyes. Kise is sitting there, wearing fifty emotions on his face like he always does, his hands tangled in his lap.

Kise...he has no idea how the hospital even tracked him down. He should be in California too--that rotten state--living it up on the beach or wherever he goes according to his social media.

Aomine thinks about college, when his roommates at the time hated Kise. They went on rants and tirades and Aomine would leave the room. Because the moment the insults reached his ears, he would be an accessory and he didn’t want to come to Kise’s defense, then. Didn’t want him at the same college--because of course he would follow him and Kuroko wherever they went. Didn’t want Kise to see the injuries in his wrists and right elbow ruin his ability to go pro. Kagami feels it, he understands, but he doesn’t talk much to Kagami either. But Kise was there, seeing him at his most vulnerable even though he didn’t want him to be. Only Momoi has ever been allowed because she’s basically his sister, but even he got mad at her when she got too close.

And here Kise is again, fingers tangled together in his lap and Aomine hates him for the look in his eye. Compassion. Empathy. It’s a killer--disarms you when you least want to be disarmed.

“I’ll drive you back to my place, Aominecchi,” he says.

“Your place? In Santa Cruz?”

He’s surprised he remembers it. California has too many goddamn cities starting with “Santa.” Saints and angels. Makes him want to spit.

“No, here. We’ve got one of those roomshare things while I’m in Tokyo.” Kise frowns. “The nurse says you should try and stay awake because they’re worried about the concussion. You’ve got ten stitches because you fell into a glass.”

Hazy memories of being at the bar, drinking too much--everything too much. Tripping and flopping into a table. Shattering glass and the sound of wood smacking the floor.

“I’m going home,” he mutters, holding a hand to the bandage on his head. Aomine stares down at his fingers, which are taped.

“And let your mothers see you like this?” Kise’s voice hits that annoying pitch of his he’s always hated.

“They’ll find out anyway.”

“Come with me. It’s alright.”

“And what about your boyfriend? Is he here or did he let you come back so he can get away from you?”

Tears well up in Kise’s eyes, but he doesn’t know if they’re real. Kise has always been a crier--wailing dramatically whenever something doesn’t go his way.

“Yukiocchi is here with me,” he says, his voice firm. “He said it’s fine and we’ve got a spare futon.”

“Fuck off.”

Kise stands up.

“I know you’re upset about Kurokocchi, but sometimes you’re so mean I don’t know why any of us bother.”

\--

It’s dark outside, but Aomine can’t clearly see the time on the clock of his phone because the glass is cracked, presumably at the same time as his head. He doesn’t know who to call. Kise’s right, really, because he doesn’t want his mothers to see him beaten up like this. He’ll have to go home eventually, but not yet. He’s spent too long upsetting them. He rings Momoi, but the call goes to voicemail.

He stops twice from the dizziness and sits on a bench for a moment. He doesn’t want to collapse on the road, even if he is close to the hospital. A dull moon shines down on him and Aomine shivers. Thinks about Kuroko, probably curled up in Kagami’s arms--or whatever time it is. He knew the time difference, once, when he joked about going over with Kuroko when he went to visit. He and Kagami playing one on one, hobbling with their various injuries that won’t go away.

Maybe revisiting that snapshot from their second year that he definitely doesn’t want to think about now.

Aomine calls Kise, because he’s an asshole. He probably hasn’t gone fair and. Kise offered him a place to sleep and no questions. He knows Kise will come and get him no matter what Aomine said to him tonight and expect nothing in return.

Ten minutes later, he’s standing under a traffic light, feeling like he’s in a sci-fi movie. So many lights and no cars except the one coming towards him. The painkillers have started wearing off and the chill of the night snaps at him.

As the car approaches, he sees that Kasamatsu is driving. Aomine is somewhat pissed, but there’s still a shiver of enjoyment in knowing that he’s probably disrupted his night. Once, when they were at a get together, he and Kasamatsu got into it over Kise. Kasamatsu said he hated the way “you other fucking miracles” treated Kise. Aomine told him to fuck off and mind his business. There’s no love lost between them.

When they get to the apartment building, Kise touches Kasamatsu’s hand and Aomine watches as Kasamatsu clenches his. Looks at the dull light glinting off of the matching engagement bands on their hands.

“I’ll go unlock the door,” he says.

On the elevator up, Aomine can feel Kasamatsu’s eyes boring holes into him, the bastard.

“Thanks,” he mutters once they reach the door.

“Don’t,” Kasamatsu says. “You’d still be out there, and I wouldn’t give a shit if you were bleeding all over the road, if it was my choice. You know that.”

They have a quick verbal exchange that ends with them shoving each other and Aomine knows that, despite his height advantage, Kasamatsu probably is bigger. He’s broader, anyway, and _looks_ heavier. Kise gets between them to push them apart, but it’s Kasamatsu he’s facing. In the middle of their fight, they start kissing, and it’s no longer about Aomine and he makes his way into the apartment.

Kasamatsu has Kise pressed against the wall right outside the doorway and they’re going at it like they’ve got no time left in this world together--which is dumb, Aomine thinks, because they live together and they’re _engaged_ or whatever--and Kise is crying.

They finally make it inside and Kise sets up the futon for Aomine in the small living room. He doesn’t know if he has to keep staying up or if he can sleep. He doesn’t know if he wants to sleep, because sleeping leads to dreaming, which leads to Tetsu, but. The alternative is having to listen to Kise and Kasamatsu fuck in the other room.

If going to sleep will possibly kill him, he reckons it’s better than the alternative.

\--

Aomine’s immediate thought when he awakens is, _Oh, so I didn’t die._

It’s better than the alternative because, really, he doesn’t really want to die, but he reconsiders that when taking in the pain vibrating through his body. He struggles to sit up, wincing as he does. He doesn’t remember much of his night before winding up at the hospital, but he has to have done a fucking number on himself.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

He always expects Kise to look immaculate in the morning, but out he comes in a sweatshirt that’s too short and too wide on him--it has to belong to Kasamatsu--and a pair of boxers. His hair is mussed and his makeup from the night before wasn’t properly washed off and his eyeliner is smudged around his eyes and his mascara pooled beneath them.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Kise stands over the couch so Aomine tucks his legs up so he can sit across from him. Out of habit and politeness, he looks away from how Kise’s boxers bunch up to show the scarring on the inside of his thighs.

“Why are you back in Tokyo, anyway?” he asks rather than talk about anything else that he _knows_ Kise will want to talk about.

“One of my sisters is getting married,” he says. Swipes under his eye where his mascara is. “How are you holding up?”

Aomine scowls and holds up his taped hand to gesture to the bandages on his hand.

“Fucking great, as you can tell.”

Kise makes a sympathetic face and it turns his stomach. Momoi gave him those, too, especially when she found out Kuroko left. He can sleep in his bed and use his body, but when he needs someone, he freaks out and goes to America. To Kagami.

“Where’s Kasamatsu?” he asks. He doesn’t care, but it’s a subject change.

“He went to get breakfast.” Kise doesn’t break eye contact. “Aominecchi--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snarls.

He expects Kise to crumple, like he used to, but his gaze is steady.

“Oh? And what’s better? Going out and getting wasted enough to pass out into a table? Ending up in the hospital with ten stitches in your head?”

Something occurs to him.

“How did you know?”

Kise blinks at him in confusion, his tirade dying on his lips. He sees his full, lower lip begin to push out into a petulant pout. It figures. No matter how far Kise’s come, he will still slip into old habits.

“How did I know what?”

“That I was in the hospital.”

He doesn’t think that he would call Kise--why would, he when he thought he was still in California? Did a call go through to Momoi and she called him? Called Kise because they’ve always been friends and _she_ knew he was in Tokyo?

Kise’s pout disappears and he looks--Aomine can’t place it. He bites his lip and almost looks away.

“Kurokocchi told me,” he says.

“What?”

Aomine grabs his phone that someone--Kise, no doubt--had plugged in last night to charge. It’s on the table, the light seeping into its cracked surface. He scrolls back to his calls.

“Aominecchi--” Kise tries.

“I called Tetsu,” he says.

“I guess--yeah.”

Aomine looks at his outgoing calls and nearly drops the phone. Making a call to Kuroko makes sense. He was thinking about him before he got drunk. Seeing him off at the airport, knowing what he was doing. What he was giving up.

What he sees nearly makes him drop his phone.

“Aominecchi?”

“Shit.”

He lets his phone fall from his hands to clatter back onto the table. It’s worse than that. He didn’t call Kuroko.

He called Kagami.

\--

_Then_

Aomine didn’t often invite friends over. Really, no one wanted to come over except for Momoi, who only lived across the hall, anyway. Kuroko walked behind him. It was easy, Aomine thought, to mistake his quietness for shyness. Kuroko was talkative when he wanted to be, but he was so used to no one noticing him that he got used to not talking.

He also was never sure if he could _trust_ people to bring over. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of his mothers, but he didn’t want to get in trouble for popping someone in the mouth for saying anything. Kuroko seemed like he’d be okay, though. He wouldn’t say anything.

“M’home,” he called lazily into the apartment.

His mom looked up from the book she was reading.

“How was practice?”

“Great.” He knew that she wasn’t going to notice Kuroko unless he said something. “I brought a friend.”

Rei-chan appeared from the kitchen, eyes wide.

“A friend?”

“I don’t see Satsuki,” his mom said. “Is she behind you?”

He rolled his eyes.

“No. He’s on the team.”

Kuroko gave a slight bow.

“I’m Kuroko Tetsuya. Thank you for having me.”

His mothers looked at him with matching looks of surprise. Sometimes it annoyed Aomine how they often mirrored each other’s expressions--it probably had to do with being together for so long.

“If he’s that polite, he can’t be Daiki’s friend.”

“Hey!”

Safely in Aomine’s room, he closed the door only most of the way. He knew they would say something if he closed it all the way, but. He wasn’t going to try anything with Kuroko, even if he _had_ been thinking about him nonstop for the past three weeks. No, more than that. When he first met him in the third string gym and thought he was a ghost. But it was weird. Aomine had been pretty alright in figuring out he was into guys as well. His mothers were supportive, but they were also keen on embarrassing him. If he even _breathed_ that he liked Kuroko, he would never hear the end of it.

“Your mother seems nice,” Kuroko said.

“Yeah.”

“Is the other woman her friend?”

Kuroko looked up at him, blinking through his overgrown bangs. Aomine chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure what to say. He was never ashamed of his mothers, never ashamed of what people said about him.

“No. She’s my other mom.”

“Oh.” A pause. “You didn’t call her that.”

Aomine sighed.

“It was easier to not confuse them when I was little and only wanted the attention of one of them. They’re both my mom.”

He didn’t mean to sound defensive, even if he was. Kuroko seemed to get it, at least, because he nodded. What Aomine _didn’t_ say was that he called them both “mama,” but no self-respecting guy would admit that to the guy that he very possibly had a crush on.

Kuroko extracted a book from his bag and blinked at him.

“Let’s start with math,” he said.

For the next half hour, they talked about everything _but_ math, as Aomine led them in conversation about this person or that or talking about basketball. He was aware that Kuroko was watching him when he spoke--and those eyes. That unearthly shade of blue ringed with black.

“You really love basketball, Aomine-kun,” he said.

He fought the urge to pull a face.

“Of course.”

Kuroko’s gaze slid to the side, towards the area under Aomine’s bed.

“Oh, you also like this.”

It was a wonder he _ever_ thought he was shy, the way Kuroko just casually leaned over and grabbed his stack of dirty magazines. Aomine reached for it.

“It’s mostly gravure,” he said defensively.

Kuroko looked at one of the models on the cover, his face unreadable. Wordlessly, he flipped through the stack. Then he paused.

_Maybe he saw something he liked…_

Aomine leaned over and felt a cold hand clamp on the back of his neck. He had a photobook full of pictures of men. It wasn’t anything salacious--it was a book of models that he thought he could easily get away with buying without raising suspicion. But it was with his other magazines.

“Oh…” Kuroko said quietly. “Aomine-kun…”

There was nothing accusatory in his voice, but he felt his defenses go up.

“You look at men, too?”

“Yeah.” He jut his chin out. “Is that a problem?”

Kuroko shook his head. He looked up at him, then, mouth slightly slack and eyes wide.

“I...I only…” he started. He paused, took a breath, and continued. “I only look at men.”

“Oh.”

Kuroko restacked his magazines and placed them back under the bed.

“Aomine-kun…”

It occurred to him that Kuroko wasn’t going to say anything, because he understood. Not just accepting his mothers, but Aomine himself. Because he was, too.

“Tetsu--”

He cut him off with a brief kiss. Too brief. Aomine wanted to hold him against him, feel their mouths slot together, but he let him pull back.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He screwed his mouth to the side. “Was that your first kiss?”

Kuroko nodded.

“Was it yours?”

Aomine considered his words.

“Technically, yeah.”

“Technically?”

“Well, Satsuki and I kissed once to try it out, but we didn’t count it ‘cause it felt too weird and gross.”

Kuroko nodded. His shoulders were still raised, but he didn’t look as vulnerable as he had earlier.

“Oh. Alright…” He looked up at him once more. “I like you, Aomine-kun. I want to kiss you again, if that’s alright.”

He swallowed and then nodded.

“Okay, sure.”

\--

_Now_

Aomine sits in front of his computer, staring at his e-mail and cursing himself that Kagami doesn’t use the same chat client as the rest of them. He drums his fingers on the keys, trying to think of what to type. Somehow, he thinks yelling _WHAT THE_ FUCK _DID I SAY TO YOU WHEN I CALLED?!_ won’t work.

There’s a message from Kuroko, asking if he’s alright and thats--that’s fucking rich, coming from him. Aomine isn’t the one who freaked the fuck out and flew across the ocean. No, he just wound up in the hospital. Much different. Didn’t change timezones, unless you counted the time between falling in the bar and talking to the nurse.

_ > Did Kise-kun get you? I figure that he did _

He looks at the messages from Kuroko and his empty, unsent e-mail to Kagami. He asks Kuroko what he says, because he’s a prick and a coward. He doesn’t want to think about how Kagami beat him again. At least in basketball, they’re even. They’ve _both_ fucked their bodies up and can’t play professionally--yay, them.

Aomine doesn’t know if Kagami pursued university. He did, somehow, hoping just to play on a college team. Instead, here he is with a dumb degree he got in marine science, because when he was asked about what he wanted to study, all he could think about was crayfish. On one hand, he impressed everyone, including himself, when his grades weren’t atrocious. On the other hand, where is he going to go next? He’s never going to be _Doctor_ Aomine. Leave that shit to nerds like Midorima.

What would Kagami even major in? Eating burgers? Aomine isn’t mad that he always beat him whenever they would have eating contests, Kuroko staring between them, dutifully keeping count.

Competition.

Aomine used to thrive on it and maybe that’s why he compares himself so often with Kagami, the only guy who can come close to providing any. Back in middle school, before Everything, they used to have staring contests. See how long anyone could stare without breaking expression. Kise would always lose immediately, but he and Kuroko could last almost three minutes sometimes. Even before they started dating, there was always something in that second minute that seemed to pass between them. Something powerful.

A message from Kuroko.

_ > Kagami-kun didn’t say _

That bastard. Another message comes in.

_ > You can ask him yourself, you know _

But he can’t. Not right now.

\--

On one hand, Aomine knows he isn’t thinking straight. His brain is muddled and he--probably--should be worried about what that hit really did to his head. He’s running on fumes, barely sleeping. Is this how Kuroko felt?

He hasn’t been home long. He knows that he ought to, but he can’t let them see him like this. As it is, he knows Kise probably told Momoi and _she_ probably told them. Momoi is of the opinion that unless Aomine expressly tells her _not_ to tell his mothers something, then she will absolutely tell them.

The woman who answers the door has to tilt her head down to look at him, and it almost takes him by surprise. Before he remembers where he is. The woman regards him with an all too familiar stare.

“You’re one of Atsushi’s friends, aren’t you?” she asks.

Aomine knows how he looks with his bandages. He probably has the same look in his eye Kuroko had before he disappeared in the security line at the international terminal.

“Yeah,” he says. “Is he here?”

He knows Murasakibara is back in Japan as of a couple weeks ago. He doesn’t know if he’s staying with his family or if he has his own place. The woman--his mother? His sister?--nods.

“You can talk to him out back.”

Aomine isn’t sure what she means by that, but he lets her lead him through the house into a small, fenced in backyard. As he passes through, he sees similarly extremely tall, purple-haired people milling about. Back in middle school, no one believed Murasakibara when he said he was the shortest one in his family, but even with his own height, Aomine feels like he’s in a forest of violet trees.

The backyard is empty when the woman deposits him there, but before he can say something, she speaks in a familiar drawl.

“I’ll go get him.”

He isn’t sure why he’s here except--maybe if he has an accomplice? Fuck. He has no idea. Aomine raises his hand, still in its bandage, to his head. He probably can take the tape off his fingers, but he doesn’t want to risk it, really. Risking it is what put him in the position he’s in now, where he can’t play basketball for prolonged periods of time.

Murasakibara walks out through the door into the yard. Actually, calling it a “yard” is a bit much. It’s a little patch of grass and a small flower garden. Idly, he wonders who maintains it.

“Mine-chin,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

It’s the only greeting he thinks he’s going to get. Murasakibara looks about the same as he did the last time Aomine saw him, which was before he left for Italy. His hair is a bit longer and worn half up and half down.

“Do you still want to go to Los Angeles?” he asks, the words coming out far too fast.

Murasakibara blinks at him in confusion.

“What?”

He sucks in a deep breath and tries again.

“I need to go to L.A.”

_It sounds less desperate if I don’t go by myself._

“Need?” He cocks his head to the side. “Does this have to do with Kuro-chin?”

Of course it does, because so many of Aomine’s decisions and actions revolve around him. Even--he tries not to think of that time from their second year. Especially not the solid heat of Kagami’s hands around his middle or the feel of his mouth on his.

“Maybe. Just. I think I should go and I know you wanted to.”

Murasakibara doesn’t answer him at first. He walks past him and squats in the grass in front of the small divider between the lawn and the garden. Prods at the dirt with one finger.

“I don’t want to anymore,” he says.

With him lower, it’s easier for Aomine to look at him. He has to be over two hundred and fifteen centimeters now. He’s broader, too, than he remembers before he left--bigger.

“Bullshit,” he says.

He shrugs. Aomine knows what this is: fear. What kept Kuroko from going over before his breakdown. Before, even, he took solace in Aomine’s bed. Fear of change and worry, especially when Kagami was his lowest after doctor’s appointments.

“I just got off a plane. They suck when you’re as big as me,” he says. “Not enough leg room.”

“Right. But you wanna see whatshisface, right?”

Too long of a pause. Aomine sighs. Fine. He can come back to it.

“How come I have to talk to you outside?”

Murasakibara gestures towards the house.

“My family,” he says, “they’re fine with me being gay, but they think I’m sleeping with literally every guy I talk to.”

“Oh.”

He’s always known it was easy for him to come out. There was some questioning, some worries, but neither of his mothers ever had a problem with him being bi. Aomine sucks in a breath.

“So c’mon. Why not see him? Were guys in Italy that much hotter?”

He knows he’s goading him and very definitely risking getting himself crushed.

“No one is hotter than Muro-chin,” Murasakibara says in a petulant voice, and Aomine knows that he’s got him.

He allows himself a smirk.

“I’m sure he’ll be touched that you saved yourself for him.”

Murasakibara shakes his head.

“I didn’t. I mean, I hooked up with guys in Italy, but.” His mouth makes a turn and he says, “none of them were Muro-chin.”

He’s a bit surprised to hear it. Maybe it’s something about your first--Aomine wouldn’t know. He definitely doesn’t talk to the people he slept with in high school except Kuroko. And Kagami.

“So you’ll come with me?”

He tries to keep his voice at its usual level of feigned disinterest. Aomine had gotten quite good at it, really, but he knows that desperation is creeping in. Murasakibara shrugs.

“Sure. When?”

Good question.

\--

_Then_

Aomine sat on his bed, leaning over every now and then to see what Kuroko was doing on his phone. It was always the same thing: language apps. He was determined to have more than passable English when he went to Los Angeles.

When he would leave Aomine.

He wasn’t bothered by it--he couldn’t be. He was Kuroko’s friend and ex--if you could call them dating in middle school really dating--and nothing more. Kagami was his future. He had definitely made peace with that.

“English is dumb,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Aomine rolled onto his stomach and jabbed a finger at his screen.

“O-U-G-H,” he said, sounding out the letters. “I’ve seen you pronounce at least five different words with those letters and every one sounded different.”

Kuroko laughed.

“Yeah, it’s a bit ridiculous, but.” He bit his lip. “I don’t want to just rely on Kagami-kun while I’m in America.”

“Whatever--you take _English_ lit classes and shit. You should be fine.”

Kuroko gave a soft smile. He knew that he regretted breaking up with Kagami before university. That he wanted so badly to go to L.A. so he could reconcile with him like a big Hollywood movie. Aomine wasn’t about that. He had bigger things to worry about: handling being a starter on his college team in addition to his studies that Kuroko was insisting he actually take time to focus on. Trying _not_ to think of the way his wrist acted up if he wrote more than a paragraph by hand or the ache in his elbow after he made a formless shot. 

“Okay, what about you?”

He scoffed.

“What _about_ me?”

“Your major?”

“Oh.”

Aomine flopped onto his back and stretched his arms up straight. He winced as a twinge of pain pricked at his elbow.

“I dunno. My adviser is after me about it. My moms didn’t go to college,” he said.

“Why not?”

Kuroko sat up on his knees and leaned his upper body against the mattress. He rested his chin on his folded arms. His face was so close to Aomine’s, he could turn his head and kiss him. But he wouldn’t. Even if they were broken up, kissing Kuroko would be a betrayal to Kagami. Despite everything that ever happened between them, he wasn’t going to hurt him like that.

“Because of me--duh. Satsuki told me to try her track, but economics? Stats? Fuck no. I’m not a genius like her.”

“Hm.”

Aomine glanced out of the corner of his eye to watch Kuroko’s profile. The black of his lashes, that was a contrast to his eyebrows and hair. The little defiant upturn of his nose. The way he could nearly see his veins--veins the same color as his hair--around his mouth.

“What do you like?” he asked. “Other than basketball, I mean.”

He opened his mouth.

“And other than big breasts.”

Aomine closed his mouth.

It did, though, strike him as funny that Kuroko could be incredibly blunt and unrelenting but God forbid he say “tits.” He tried to think about what he liked. He liked Kuroko, but that went without saying. He willed away Kagami’s big, doofy, handsome face that also came to his mind’s eye. Other than getting too tactile, he and Kagami never revisited anything after that time with the three of them. Aomine hadn’t been so drunk that he didn’t remember--none of them were. He knew, though, that it wasn’t his shot to call.

“Crayfish,” he finally said. “Catching crayfish.”

“You could study that.”

Kuroko reached a hand out to prod his cheek.

“What? Major in catching crayfish?”

“No. Marine studies. I bet you’d be good at it if you applied yourself, Aomine-kun.” There was a strange look on his face, one that Aomine couldn’t decipher from their current positions. “You’re always so good when you try.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he ignored it. Instead, he brushed Kuroko’s finger away.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe.”

\--

_Now_

Aomine is beginning to understand why Kuroko started smoking. His hands are shaking as he places the call. He’s sitting alone at his kitchen table, wearing an old Iverson jersey, because he’s already shoved whatever smelled the cleanest into his duffel bag.

“Daiki?”

The apartment is empty except for him, but he knows his mother coaches mini-basketball and can take time to answer a call.

“I need money for a plane ticket to L.A.,” he says.

A pause on the other line. He pictures his mother sighing and pushing a hand into her hair. Maybe he could have tried Rei-chan. Historically, she’s always let him get away with more shit.

“Are you serious right now?” she asks.

“Yeah. I have to--I have to go. Just for a bit.”

“Daiki.”

He knows this tone. Her warning tone.

“What?”

“You don’t tell us you wind up in the _hospital_ and then manage to creep around us for two days and now you’re asking for money for a plane ticket across the godda--darn ocean?”

He knows she must be near the kids to censor herself like this. Aomine spreads his hand flat on the gouged and scratched wood of their kitchen table.

“Oh, you found that out.”

“Satsuki told us, which _she_ heard from that one model friend of yours.”

_Figures…_

“Well--”

“And if you didn’t expect me to call the hospital after hearing about it, you were wrong. Ten stitches, a _concussion,_ and all the alcohol that was in your system. Daiki, what is happening?”

He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just have to get out.”

“To America of all places?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Look, I’m--I’m not unstable or anything. I just have to see some people and. I’m not going alone.”

Whatever background sound is behind his mother fades, which he figures that she’s walking away from the court.

“Who are you going with?”

“Murasakibara. You remember him, right?”

A pause.

“The unfairly tall kid, right? Purple hair?”

“Yeah. He got my ticket already,” he says. “Tomorrow night.”

“Daiki, that’s--”

“I just have to pay him back.”

Another pause, this one longer.

“You barely sound like yourself. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He has no clue what to say to that. His mother must get it, because she doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Alright. But you call us when you land. Don’t leave us out--you hear me?”

Aomine closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose. He nods before he remembers he’s on the phone.

“Yeah.”

They say their goodbyes and he hangs up. Stares at his fractured reflection in the cracked screen of his phone and exhales again. In one day, he’ll be on a plane to LAX. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say to either of them. Still doesn’t know what he said to Kagami in that phone call. But he knows he has to be there.

\--

Aomine’s first impression of Los Angeles is that it’s too damn bright. The sun is searing and he instinctively gropes to his forehead to pull his sunglasses down only to belatedly remember that he didn’t bring any. The sky is bleached out and hazy and he thinks he might be having a slight out of body experiment.

“Should we hail a cab?”

He shades his eyes with one hand, but he still has to squint.

“No,” Murasakibara drawls. He rips open what is probably his seventy-fifth bag of airline pretzels and dumps the contents into his mouth. He begins to chew as he speaks. “Muro-chin is getting us.”

Aomine stills. When he does, when his body stops moving, it shifts towards his right where his duffle bag dangles heavily. He tries to right his weight, leaning on the other leg, but he feels a twinge of unfamiliar pain there. As usual with pain, momentary panic grips him, before he remembers that he was just on a plane for almost ten hours.

“He’s coming?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to just show up out of nowhere and surprise him.”

There’s an edge to Murasakibara’s usual drawl that he’s sure is directed at Kuroko. Way back when, they were supposed to go to California together to reunite with Himuro and Kagami respectively. He seems more than a bit put out that he wasn’t consulted before he took off. Aomine, though, has done the same so he just fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt that sticks out from under his sweatshirt.

They make their way to arrivals where people are smoking too close to the doors as they wait for people to come get them. Aomine tries to stand downwind and now inhale. Thanks to Kuroko, he’s been too close to cigarettes recently. He doesn’t want to make it any worse.

Finally, a silver four door sedan pulls up along the curb. It comes to a stop and the door opens. Next to him, he hears Murasakibara suck in a slight breath.

“Hey!”

Himuro’s smile is a bit too wide and with the one eye he can see shielded with sunglasses, his face is even more unreadable than usual. Aomine hates people like that. Kuroko has difficulty expressing strong emotions, but it’s typically easy to get his mood and, even if you can’t, he’ll tell you. Kagami, of course, is hopeless at hiding what he’s feeling. Himuro comes to them even though he hasn’t even noticed that Aomine’s there. His face is tilted up to look at Murasakibara and it’s--almost cute. He holds his hand out and looks as if he’s about to touch him, but instead he grabs Murasakibara’s suitcase.

“I’ll put it in the back.” Finally, he looks to Aomine. He pushes up his sunglasses and, for the first time, he sees both of Himuro’s eyes as the heavy curtain of bangs is comically pushed up. “Yours, too.”

There isn’t a question about who gets the back. Aomine gets in on the left, behind the driver’s seat, and he’s glad he does. The second Murasakibara drops into the passenger seat, he pushes it all the way back to give his legs room.

Himuro pulls into the line of slow-moving cars in arrivals. The music coming from the radio is something heavy with drums, but it’s turned down low so Aomine can only feel the bass throbbing through the car.

“How was the flight?” Himuro asks.

Murasakibara makes a sort of whining noise.

“That bad?”

“The meal sucked and not enough snacks.”

Himuro pulls his sunglasses down as they move from the covered area into even harsher sun.

“There’s never enough snacks for you,” he says with a laugh. A slight pause. “I’m glad you’re here. I was surprised when you called.”

“Mine-chin really wanted to come so I found the earliest nonstop flight,” he says.

Aomine curses under his breath. He’s trying _not_ to seem unhinged and desperate and confused and Murasakibara has to go and ruin it.

“I’d imagine you’d want to come after him,” Himuro says. His tone is suddenly icy. “Considering how Kuroko just took off.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

“They aren’t doing anything, you know. Him and Taiga. If it helps.”

Does it?

Aomine had told Kuroko that he was fine if he went to L.A. and fucked Kagami. He _should_ be jealous--he certainly was at points during high school--but he isn’t. A sense of that it’s okay if it’s Kagami. He doesn’t want to think too deeply about it.

“I’m off tonight,” Himuro says. “If you want to go out to the club where I work. It’s ten dollar all you can drink.”

Himuro only drives with two fingers down near the bottom of the wheel. It’s strangely relaxed for driving through L.A. traffic. His stance seems deliberately laidback, though. He keeps shooting glances at Murasakibara when he thinks he isn’t looking. Aomine, from his spot in the backseat, can see it perfectly.

“Sure,” Murasakibara says.

“Sure,” Aomine echoes.

The thought of going out to a loud club and drinking after a plane ride--when their bodies are still on Tokyo time--is probably a bad idea, but Aomine doesn’t care. He’s the king of bad ideas. No one has worse ideas than him.

“Taiga’s working,” he continues. “But he’ll be home by the afternoon.”

His sunglasses have reflective lenses so Aomine has no chance of seeing anyone by himself in the lens he can see, but he knows that Himuro is looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“Okay,” he says, because what else does he expect him to say? He’s here for Kuroko, not…

But he called Kagami. The night he was in the hospital. He wants to find out what he said. A fringe benefit to chasing after Kuroko, he reckons.

It’s immediately evident that the house that he and Kagami share is too small for all of them. It makes sense: only the two of them rent it.

Kuroko is sitting on the couch when they come in and his eyes meet his. He looks--better than he did before he left. His eyes look less wild. Those eyes are currently on the stitches on his forehead.

“It’s fine,” he says too quickly. “It doesn’t really hurt much anymore. And see?”

He wiggles his fingers to show that his hand isn’t bandaged anymore. Kuroko holds his gaze and he--hates it. Hates how he can still see through him even when he’s going through it himself.

“I figure you guys’ll want to shower.” Himuro is quick to address them both, like he was trying to avoid talking directly to Murasakibara. Hm. Maybe the three of them weren’t the only ones going through it. “Come on. I’ll show you how it works.”

Aomine feels his body finally start to whir into motion. He drops his duffle bag near Kuroko’s backpack and starts to follow Himuro towards where he figures the bathroom is.

“I call first shower.”

A keening noise from Murasakibara. “No fair. I need more hot water. There’s more of me to wash.”

He still manages to get the first shower, which puts off whatever conversation he has to have with Kuroko about why he’s here. The hot water feels good, anyway, easing the plane-induced soreness in his hips and shoulders. Belatedly, he realizes that he didn’t grab fresh clothes out of his duffle before following Himuro--and elbowing Murasakibara out of the bathroom--and he curses to himself. Aomine wraps the towel around his waist--holding it in place with his hand--and pads back out towards the living room. Now he looks like he’s trying to--what? Show Kuroko what he left behind? Like he’d care.

“I’m just grabbing my bag, Tetsu,” he says. “Don’t--”

The sentence dies in his throat. Apparently, in the time he was in the shower, Kagami came home from work. He can see the back of Kuroko’s head where he sits on the couch but Kagami is standing across from him, arms loosely crossed. Their eyes meet and Aomine nearly drops the towel. He _maintains,_ though, and holds on.

“Hey,” Kagami says. “How’s your head?”

The words are out before he can stop them.

“Haven’t had any complaints.”

The tension snaps and Kagami, thankfully, starts laughing.

\--

None of the cars present can fit all of them. By necessity, Murasakibara needs to ride shotgun, which means his seat will be pushed back nearly into the trunk. The only person short enough to be able to sit behind him is Kuroko, but he has to sit in the middle on the same grounds of being the smallest.

Himuro ends all debate by calling a rideshare. He shares a pointed look at Kagami, who would have likely been the designated driver. Kagami somehow looks a bit relieved. Aomine can’t blame him. He can drink now--and he probably needs it. He doesn’t know what happened between Kuroko leaving him and him arriving earlier today. He knows that it had to be something. The way they keep looking at each other. Aomine wants to put himself between them physically and ask what’s going on, but he doesn’t.

When they get to the club, Kuroko’s fingers brush his wrist in a way that makes Aomine wonder if he imagined it.

Everyone inside seems to know Himuro, which makes sense considering that he works there. The girl who’s bartending hands over five wristbands without him having to pay. Himuro takes a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to her in a tip anyway. She grins and puckers her lips to blow him an air kiss. They line up for her to affix the neon yellow wristbands. Aomine watches her loop it tightly around Kuroko’s thin, narrow wrist and remembers his fingers on Aomine’s just moments ago.

“Just flash this here or at the other bar.” Himuro points across the bar to a second bar, “Or the one outside. All well drinks are included. The guys with the shots charge, but it’s only four bucks.”

As if on cue, a guy weaves around him, holding trays of plastic shot glasses. He’s only wearing a cap and briefs with sneakers.

“Do you ever do that?” he asks.

“Sometimes. If there’s a call out. I get volunteered.” Himuro makes a face. “Anyway. Let’s drink.”

Before the guy leaves, Himuro stops him and gets a shot for free. Perks of working here, Aomine figures.

As much as he wants to fall back into poor decision making, what happened the _last_ time he got wasted is too fresh on his rattled brain, so Aomine decides to limit himself to three drinks. Enough to get warm and buzzed, but not drunk.

The music is good, at least. It’s the kind he would want to dance to. Kuroko seems to think so, too, the way he’s tapping his foot. He’s always said he hated clubs. His lack of presence makes it easy for people to jostle him or outright smash into him.

“What do you want?” Kagami asks.

Aomine stares at him, amazed he’s just stating it outright. He tries to compose himself. He slouches against the bar and raises his brows.

“What?”

“To drink.”

_Fucker did that on purpose._

The three of them stand in an awkward silence, sipping their drinks. He and Kagami each both have a rum and Coke, while Kuroko sips gin and juice. At least there’s an unspoken agreement about not just downing it. Kagami and Kuroko seem to be taking it as slow as him. Good. They probably shouldn’t get sloppy.

Himuro doesn’t share the sentiment. He’s on his second drink already, and flitting from group to group when he recognizes at least one person among them. Murasakibara, his plastic cup of vodka and fruit punch looking tiny in his hand, stares after him, somehow managing to look like little boy lost.

It continues on. Himuro will come back to the four of them and then he’ll see someone else he knows: a performer, a guy in casual wear, someone he works with. He’ll be off and socializing, sometimes bopping along to a song with them for a while. Murasakibara crunches loudly on the ice in his cup.

Aomine hits the bottom of his cup, having stretched his drink out by sipping it through the tiny coffee stirrer of a straw that came with it. He places it on the bar, intending to pace himself before his second and feeling pretty responsible. Himuro is nowhere to be found--he’s somewhere in the crowd, on his third drink now. Kagami keeps shaking his head and Kuroko keeps almost touching his bicep before his fingers curl in and he drops his hand. Aomine wonders if that’s just for his benefit.

Murasakibara, meanwhile, has had enough. He crushes his empty cup in his hand and slams it down on the bar. With an agitated cry, he turns and storms away. He moves deeper into the club and out the side door to where the outdoor patio and bar is.

“Someone should go after him,” Kuroko says quietly.

It should be him. Of the three of them, he’s the closest to him. But. Aomine feels responsible for him, for this. He got him to come.

“I’ll go.”

He pretends not to notice the matching looks of surprise from Kuroko and Kagami. Aomine maneuvers through people and pushes the door open. It’s easy to spot Murasakibara, because it always is. He’s slumped on the wall, his back against the wall of the club. He’s dabbing angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of the purple flannel tied around his waist.

“Hey,” Aomine says, feeling awkward standing over him like this.

“Fuck off, Mine-chin,” he snarls, hard and bitter.

“C’mon--”

“We’ve never been close so don’t pretend we are now,” he says, voice still harsh. “You only wanted me to come so you wouldn’t look so pathetic and desperate coming after Kuro-chin by yourself.”

He’s forgotten how Murasakibara gets when he’s upset--how he goes right for the jugular. Aomine is at a loss for what to say, because his immediate thought for what to say isn’t very nice and. He doesn’t want to make things worse.

The door to outside opens and Himuro walks out. His eye zeroes in on them.

“Atsushi?”

Murasakibara looks away. Aomine takes it as his cue to leave, but he doesn’t go back in yet. He walks up to the outdoor bar and flashes his wristband for another rum and coke. He takes it and turns back around. The two of them are still talking. He can’t hear the music out here, but Aomine still can’t make out what they’re saying. Himuro reaches up to cup a hand on Murasakibara’s face. Then they’re kissing and Aomine gets a weird sense of being here before. Kise and Kasamatsu, outside the apartment they were staying in. Himuro has even got Murasakibara pressed against the wall.

A few months ago, at Momoi’s birthday. Imayoshi pulling her close and dipping his smug face down towards hers to kiss her.

Back in high school, looking at Kuroko and Kagami.

Always Aomine being the awkward one on the outside. He sips his drink and tries to think of a damn thing that that means.

\--

He ends up on the couch. Kuroko is in Kagami’s room, in his bed, and Aomine has to think about _that._ Of course, Murasakibara is in Himuro’s room. That wasn’t even a question.

Aomine can barely fit on the couch. Really, he should be the one in the bed. Let Kuroko’s small ass sleep out here--but. That’s so many more questions. Him in a bed alone with Kagami. Something that’s never happened. Closest was right after they had all slept together and Kuroko had risen to clean himself up in the bathroom. They had been alone for maybe five minutes.

So he takes the couch.

There’s blessed silence from that room, though. He trusts Himuro’s words about them not doing anything--he trusts Kuroko and Kagami. He hasn’t figured it all out yet or what he wants to say or how he wants to say it, but he knows this.

He flops onto his back. But would he mind? He and Kuroko aren’t really _together_ and, anyway, this is Kagami. His own words come back to mock him.

_Have you fucked him yet? It’s okay if you have…_

If silence is all that he can hear from Kagami’s room, the same can’t be said about Himuro’s. The squeak of mattress springs cuts the quiet of the dark house. Of _course_ the mattress would be so loud if someone as big as Murasakibara was humping away on it. He can hear Himuro’s voice, loud with want and dripping with lust.

“Ah--ah--yes, _Atsushi,_ YES!”

Aomine wonders if he forgot to close his door or if he’s actually this loud. He pulls the pillow Kagami tossed to him over his head to try and drown it out.

He sleeps fitfully, sometimes falling into slumber only to jerk himself awake. At one point, Aomine grabs his phone and sees that three hours have passed since they got home. The squeaks in the other room continue--them, too?

“It’s been three fucking hours,” he growls under his breath.

Somewhere he hears the muted squeak of a door being opened and the sound of bare feet on tile.

“Aomine-kun.”

He sits up. His eyes have adjusted enough to the gloom to make out the shape of Kuroko. The shine on the whites of his eyes, the messy shape of his hair.

“What?”

“You can come into Kagami-kun’s room. It isn’t much quieter, but…”

Suddenly the squeaking mattress or heavy breathing cut by Himuro’s loud moans fade to the background and the air is thick with everything between them. Everything neither of them is saying.

“It’s just sleeping,” he says.

It’s a terrible idea and the only thing worse than Kuroko suggesting it is Aomine taking him up on it.

“Okay.”

He gathers up his pillow and follows him down the hall to Kagami’s room. With the door closed, it _is_ better. He can still hear it, but it’s muffled. Kagami is sitting up in bed and his shoulders drop somewhat when the two of them enter the room.

“They really missed each other, I guess.” he says with a grimace.

The bed is big enough for the three of them, thankfully. Aomine puts Kuroko in the middle, because it’s still awkward but somehow less so. It’s a terrible idea--awful. So awful that he might have come up with it himself. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep. Tries to.

\--

_Then_

Kuroko pressed against him, lying his hand flat on Aomine’s chest. Like he wanted to feel his heartbeat.

“Can you spend the night?” he asked.

It shouldn’t have reminded him of the last time that happened. The three of them. The weird wrong rightness of it, all tangled into one. Kuroko looking at him with those eyes.

He always called his moms because they both sucked at texting. That night, he had said he was staying over at Kagami’s and Rei-chan had asked, “Which one is Kagami? The one with the two-tone hair? He’s a nice boy.” Kuroko had laughed and the two of them had called Kagami “a nice boy” for the rest of the night until they all fell asleep in one heap.

Now Kuroko was asking him to stay, but not because he really wanted him there. His eyes were pleading and his mouth was desperate. He didn’t want Aomine to leave, because he didn’t want to be alone in his empty apartment.

So Aomine stayed.

He stayed, because he knew this was the best that he was going to get. He never regretted that night between the three of them, but things had changed after it. No longer could he just drape his arm over Kagami’s shoulders or pretend to bite at his ear. Now touches were _charged_ and no one wanted to get shocked by talking about it. Maybe it would have been better if they did. If Kagami had kissed them _both_ off at the airport before he left. Instead, Aomine watched them kiss and hold hands for the next year and a half until Kagami left and they broke up. And now here he was, taking what he could get.

Kuroko had his face in the crook of his neck, shivering in his arms. This wasn’t the first time they had slept together in the past few months, but it was the first time he had been asked to stay.

There was something unspoken, though. Someone. Aomine didn’t want to examine any feelings he might have had for Kagami--he would admit to lusting for him, but he had to own up to that one. But he knew that Kuroko still pined for him. Took a slightly dimmer light, right? The one he didn’t really need the way he needed Kagami. Aomine usually hated settling for second best--for _losing--_ and yet here he was.

He nosed at Kuroko’s hair and wrinkled his nose.

“You have got to stop smoking,” he said.

“Next week.”

“You said that last week.”

Kuroko tilted his face up to him.

“It calms me down.”

“It _reeks.”_

If he tricked himself into it, it almost sounded like the regular sort of banter between boyfriends. The last time he had been able to call Kuroko his boyfriend it had been going on ten years ago. Ten years. Shit.

“Aomine-kun?”

“Yeah?”

Kuroko shifted against him. More than anything, Aomine wanted to put his arms around him and hold him close. Or to switch positions and let Kuroko hold him--when was the last time he had let anyone hold him? Sex with anyone else was always a no strings type of deal. He didn’t cuddle--he didn’t spend the night. Not that he was seeing anyone else since he and Kuroko started...whatever this was. He wasn’t going to call himself his boyfriend when the one who calls the shots didn’t call it. Not when he knew Kuroko was still in love with Kagami.

“Have you ever been in love with two people?”

His voice was even quieter than normal, but still managed to be spoken in his usual, straight forward manner.

“I don’t think I’ve been in love with one person,” he said back, because it was easier.

“Aomine-kun…”

His answer was flippant and a bit mean, he knew this. But. Kuroko didn’t love him, so why would he bother to say he loved him? He wasn’t into giving someone that kind of power over him. And what did he mean? Two people? Sweet words to make Aomine feel better about filling the void, no doubt.

He shut his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with what that meant. He was just here with Kuroko, for tonight. Holding for as long as he could, because he knew that he was only a placeholder.

\--

_Now_

Aomine isn’t remotely surprised when he walks into the kitchen the next morning that Himuro can’t quite stand up straight. Still clad in only his boxers, he can see some bruising on his thighs.

“Morning,” he says, voice cheerful. He punches a few buttons on a coffee maker and it begins bubbling and coming to life.

Murasakibara is at the stove, cooking eggs in a pan. He seems to be favoring one side, the other leg slightly bent. Aomine figures that that means that Himuro gave as good as he got last night.

_Well, what else do you expect when you fuck for, like, four hours straight?_

“Making up for lost time?” he asks bluntly.

“Ugh, could you not?”

Kagami comes in behind him, holding a hand to his head.

“What?” Himuro asks innocently.

He turns to lean his back against the counter.

“I don’t wanna hear any details about what you two were up to is all,” Kagami says.

He walks past Himuro and opens a cabinet. Takes out three mugs and places them on the counter next to the percolating coffee maker.

“What about you? I saw Aomine come out of your room this morning.”

“We didn’t do anything, Himuro-san.”

Kuroko is suddenly next to the coffee maker, watching it slowly fill the round, squat glass pot. Himuro jumps slightly, wincing as he does.

“Shit,” he hisses. “I hate when you do that.”

Kuroko blinks at him owlishly.

“It’s what I do.”

Aomine snorts a laugh. Himuro shakes his head.

“Anyway, Atsushi is making breakfast. I figure that it’s not every day we get breakfast cooked by a future James Beard award winner.”

He doesn’t turn around, but Murasakibara is clearly blushing. The coffee maker finishes and Kagami pours three mugs. Himuro yanks it from his hand to pour two more. The table is small and only has two chairs. Aomine drops into one of them.

“Here.”

Kagami hands him one of the mugs he poured. Their fingers touch briefly and Aomine jerks his hand so fast that coffee sloshes over the edge and nearly onto his hand. Instead it splatters on the table. Kagami looks at him, his eyes wondering.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for his reaction or for the accidental contact.

Kagami dimples a grin at him. The brilliance of it makes Aomine nearly look away. Shit.

“No worries.”

“I traded my shift so I’m off today,” Himuro says. “Atsushi and I are going to the Farmers Market.”

There’s something in the way he looks at Murasakibara when he says it that makes Aomine think that this was a promise long ago. Like Kuroko and Kagami. Aomine takes a gulp of coffee, not caring that it’s hot, not caring that it’s bitter.

“Me too,” Kagami says. “Obviously, since I’m still here.”

Kuroko, holding his mug with both hands, gives a slight smile. Himuro walks over and pinches the flesh on Kagami’s elbow.

“Cool. I’ll let you know when we’re done and we’ll all get dinner, okay?”

One part romantic, one part manipulative. Himuro is leaving so the three of them will be alone. Aomine can’t blame him. First Kuroko dropping in and now him. His older brother instincts must be off the chart.

Breakfast goes too quickly, and then it’s just the three of them. Kagami is dumping the plates in the sink and his back is to them. Aomine watches him: the breadth of his shoulders, the way his sweatpants are somewhat wedged, allowing him a view of his ass. He knows it isn’t his right to stare, but--he’s only human.

“Aomine-kun?”

Kuroko’s tone is concerned, not judgmental. He tears his gaze away from Kagami to him.

“What?”

“Is everything alright?”

He can’t help himself--never could.

“Are you really one to talk?”

He narrows his eyes.

“Aomine-kun.”

Kagami approaches the table and Kuroko stands so he can take his seat.

“You’re fine.” He waves a hand.

“No...your leg.”

Knowing it leads to nowhere trying to argue with Kuroko, he drops heavily into the seat.

“What did I say?” Aomine asks.

“What?”

“When I called. The night with…” He gestures to his forehead. “What did I say?”

Kagami looks away and rubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t remember. I just remember telling Kuroko to call Kise to go get you.”

He’s lying. He’s so, so bad at it.

“Oi...c’mon.”

He watches him rush his huge hands through his hair and sighs. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

“I missed the call,” he says. “You left a voicemail. I tried calling you back, but you didn’t pick up.”

Kagami unlocks his phone and presses a few buttons with his thumb. He scrolls back. Aomine watches him, breath caught in his throat.

“Here.”

He puts the phone on the table while it’s already ringing his voicemail. He has it on speaker phone.

A feminine, robotic voice chirps, “You have no new messages. First saved message…”

It fades and Aomine hears his own voice. His words are rushed and he’s breathing heavily, making it go staticky, but that’s him.

_“I’m at the hospital--smashed my head. Fuck. They keep trying to get me to call someone to come get me so I called you? I dunno. You and Tetsu are probably--but it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m okay. You’ve always been cool about everything, even fucking...that time. Y’know? Shit--shit. I need someone. I love you, you know? You and Tetsu. It’s fucked up, though. So...so fucked up. I’m…”_

Whatever the rest he says is unintelligible and the voicemail cuts off after that. Aomine stares blankly at the screen as it goes dark.

“I had a concussion,” he says flatly.

“I know,” Kagami says. “I kinda wrote it off as that.”

There’s a slight dare to the edge of his voice. After that, the three of them lapse into silence, the air thick with everything they aren’t saying. Kuroko is the one that breaks it.

“I told Kagami-kun I was in love with you both,” he says. “My feelings for him and my feelings for you.”

“Feelings for me?”

That unrelenting stare. The set of his mouth.

“Aomine-kun, we’re sleeping together. You know I don’t do that casually.”

His head begins to pound and, instinctively, he reaches for his mug of coffee.

“I told him that it was okay if it was you.”

Why does that sound familiar?

“I wish we hadn’t all come together when we were young,” Kuroko says. “Because I don’t think we were ready for it. For all of us.”

He sounds more sure of himself than he has recently. Aomine pictures him disappearing into the crowd at the airport. Pictures him on his couch, holding himself and rocking back and forth. Coming here was good for him. Saint Kagami. Fuck.

“You think we’re ready for it now?” he asks.

“Are you?”

Aomine puts his mug down a bit too roughly.

“What the fuck kind of question is that? Who cares what I said when I was drunk and concussed?”

“I do,” Kuroko says. “And how you…you let me go. You let me come here even though it hurt you. I’m a selfish person, Aomine-kun. More selfish than you when it comes down to it. I wouldn’t have let me go.”

He shrugs, not trusting his tongue. Kagami hasn’t spoken either. He’s just looking at them with those weird eyebrows of his lowered, and this...vulnerable look on his face.

“We wanted to wait for you to even try...anything with us,” Kuroko says. “And then Himuro-san said that you were coming here with Murasakibara-kun. So. Here we are.”

Despite the sureness of his words, Kuroko’s hands are shaking. Aomine gets the instinct to put his over them. He reaches the same time as Kagami and their hands end up awkwardly stacking on top of one another. Kuroko lets out a breathy, shuddering laugh.

“So...what’s the deal?” Aomine asks.

Kagami’s palm is hot against the top of his hand and part of him worries about crushing the bones of Kuroko’s hand beneath both of theirs. He’s sandwiched, though, and can’t pull away.

“I...have been thinking about it a lot,” Kuroko says. “I want to start things between us again. All three of us. I know it won’t be immediate but...even with how awkward it was, last night was...it felt. Right.”

Leave it to Kuroko to manage to be forthright and open even when he’s going through it. Aomine isn’t envious at all.

“I’d.” Kagami swallows once. Twice. “I’d be down with that, too.”

He pulls his hand back first. Aomine slowly retracts his own. Puts it back around his mug.

“Y-yeah,” he says and then shakes his head. “Sorry. This is too fucking fast.”

“It doesn’t have to be. We just...figure it out at our own pace,” Kuroko says. “Without alcohol this time and...when we’re actually adults.”

It sounds...kind of nice. Aomine puts a hand to his temple. But Kuroko stating what he wants so plainly in that _Kuroko_ way of his won’t make it easy. None of it is easy. Sometimes your not-boyfriend leaves for Los Angeles and leaves you fucking wondering and wallowing so you drink yourself into oblivion and also a table full of glasses. A moment suspended in time with two people--the boy you never stopped loving and a bright and incandescent rival. Two people Aomine is realizing he wants to be _around._

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s give it a shot, I guess. See if it works.”

Kuroko smiles. “Okay.”

He downs the remains of his coffee and shakes his head at the bitterness--what kind of roast do Kagami and Himuro even get?

“Anyway, where can we play some street ball?”

The tension is thinning, dissipating. Kagami laughs.

“Think you can play with your arm?”

“What about your legs?”

He grins a challenge. Kuroko aims a smile between them.

“I’ll referee your one on one,” he says.

In unison, he and Kagami say, “Don’t smoke on the court.”

Kuroko’s eyes widen and then he laughs. A beat later, Kagami joins in. Aomine watches them for a moment--these two men he’s taking a chance on, putting his heart on the line for. It should terrify him, but it doesn’t. He won’t be on the outside again, watching two people kiss.

He joins in their laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/smugsnail)


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